THE WHITE ROSE PAINTED WITH BLOOD

xviii - of rose red blood and crocodile tears

t h e   g i r l

crimson lips and skin once
a lighter shade of rose gold
now the same shade of the
snow outside the window
on a cold december morning
splashed with freckled
constellations the shade of
summer of the last strands
of color in her pale skin //

hair of dark threads of night
with gleaming splotches of gloss
scattered over the strands of
obsidian from her scalp //

eyes pools of alluring night
sky deeper than the universe
that someone could fall into
and never come out //

a mind of shattered shards
the same shade as the sun
with fragments of memories
of blood splattered collisions
and star shaped scars and salt
tears mixing with the salt ocean
and the departing gleam of
her mother's dying eyes //

of a heart that now throbbed
with pain and loss instead
of the strands of life and
blood vessels through her
body a heart broken by the
world and the forever
whispering of departing
footsteps as she listened to
the sound of walking away //

a heart of a million shards
the size of grains of dust
carried away by childhood
friends who had forgotten her
and the pieces of her blood-
stained heart that she'd left
behind for them to keep //

of promises that were just lies
in disguise that she still held
on to because they were the
only bits of wood her soul
could hang on to as she
drowned in oceans of rose red
blood and crocodile tears of a
world that never gave a damn